by K Larsen
Jezebel
A Novel by K. Larsen
JEZEBEL
Copyright © 2015 by K. Larsen
Cover by: Cover Me Darling
Editing: E. Adams
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Other K. Larsen Books
30 Days ~ FREE
Committed
Bloodlines Series—All can be read as stand-alone books.
Tug of War ~ FREE
Objective
Resistance
Target 84
Stand Alones
Dating Delaney
Saving Caroline
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Other K. Larsen Books
About K. Larsen
Author’s you don’t want to miss
Prologue
Her recently manicured nails bit marks into her palms. She fought the urge to squirm under the acidic looks currently directed at her. “Annabelle Fortin, you will listen to your father,” her mother snapped, hands planted on her hips. Annabelle stood defiantly before her parents, desperately wishing her life was someone else’s—anyone else’s.
“You don’t need to punish me more,” she retaliated. “I know how bad this is, and how bad it looks.” Her relationship with her parents was strained, at best. Gavin and Monica Fortin wanted their child to live a life of decadence. However, with that lifestyle came endless opportunities for experimentation. And experiment she had.
Recently eighteen, Annabelle had already dabbled in sex, drugs, and other extra-curricular activities of the sordid variety. And she now had a police record to prove it. The DUI had been an extremely unfortunate event. She had been terrified sitting in the car, waiting for the police officer to arrive at her window. The blue lights had created a blurry strobe effect in her rearview. Madison is going to kill me, she’d thought. Not her parents—she had been worried her best friend would look down on her. Her parents only felt shamed by fellow country clubbers, and as a result Annabelle’s life was being scrutinized.
Part of her punishment: a six-month court-ordered volunteer gig. She was pissed that she didn’t even get a say in where she would volunteer. She’d been assigned to Glenview. Four hours a day, once a week, for six long months, at an assisted living facility for people with early onset dementia. She disliked old people in general . . . Great, old people who don’t even know they’re old. She snickered at her own jab.
“Annabelle, your phone. Now,” her father barked. His hand stretched out. Palm flat, waiting expectantly, his eyes boring into hers in that deep, intense way only a father’s could.
She forked over her phone with a pout and scowled. Annabelle’s friends joked that her dad was hot enough to be a GQ model even at fifty-four. She hated the way they giggled at his slight accent—at anything he said—and ogled him. It was lame and disgusting. He was old fashioned and didn’t parent the way other kids’ parents did. He said it was how he was raised, but she hated it. When she was little, she’d thought it was cool that her dad was foreign—but now, she wished he’d accept the way things were done in the U.S. and leave his European parenting skills behind.
“I hardly think losing your phone is worth all the dramatics, Belle.”
Annabelle said nothing as she stewed in anger. “Your mother and I have talked, and we’ve decided that for the duration of your probation your curfew is six p.m. You’re to be home for dinner every night. And no friends are allowed over.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Six months? I drove drunk! I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve been letting me drink at home since I was fifteen—”
“Enough!” her father roared. He raked a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head in frustration. Annabelle cowered slightly at his booming voice. “You got lucky. You were driving my car. Using my money to buy alcohol, and hanging out with that degenerate boyfriend of yours—not studying at Madison’s house as you led us to believe.”
“I’m eighteen, Daddy . . . I could just leave.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her father’s face descended into an unusual shade of red. The back of his hand pressed to his mouth as he stifled his first train of thought. She thought for a moment that steam might start billowing out from his ears like they did in the cartoons she used to watch as a child. His breathing was ragged and his nostrils flared. Her resolve faltered slightly.
“You wouldn’t even know how to begin to support yourself. We’ve spoiled you your entire life. But if you want to go—” he gestured to the door, “you know the way out.” His tone was venomous.
A wave of guilt engulfed her. Annabelle was spoiled, she had to admit. She didn’t have a clue what she’d do if she walked out of the house. She had no car, had never worked, had never paid a bill of her own . . . and—outside of her trust fund—had no accessible money until, ironically, her twenty-first birthday.
Her parents owned her.
She turned and stomped to her room, feeling helpless and irritated. School would be over in three months. She’d graduate and spend her entire summer before college confined to the house. This house. The toxic display case they called a home. Her life officially sucked more than it had before, which was a feat.
She had known she was too buzzed that night to drive but quite frankly, she just hadn’t cared enough to not do it. It was a rash decision. It never should have happened. Throwing herself onto her bed, she flipped onto her back and then reached toward her pocket, only to remember that she didn’t have her phone. She rolled onto her stomach, stuck her face into her pillow and screamed so loud and hard her voice finally gave out. Tears of frustration and bitterness still flowed long after.
Hours passed. She got bored. She tried reading. After a chapter she gave up. She couldn’t concentrate. Restless, she tried listening to music. After that failed to calm her she tried watching TV, but she only managed to endlessly flip through the channels. She tried on all the clothes in her closet.
Nothing distracted her. Nothing held her interest. She hated feeling emotions. She did whatever it took to avoid facing the issues that plagued her. Her apathy for her home life bordered on acute hatred. For years now she had buried herself with distractions. She did anything to keep her head in the sand. It was easier not to feel. It was easier to get up every morning and ignore the disappointment, the aloofness. Finally, she trudged downstairs to beg her mother for her laptop back. She’d need it for school, anyhow. They couldn’t take away everything.
“Mom.”
“Belle,” her mother answered absently and glanced at the clock on the stove. Typical, Annabelle thought, look anywhere but at her very own daughter.
“Can I have my laptop back? I need it for schoolwork.”
“I will talk with your father about it.” Annabelle’s shoulders sagged at the response.
“Please,” she tried. Her mother turned to face her and her eyes softened.
“One hour. Bring it downstairs with you when you come down for dinner.”
Annabelle didn’t dare utter a word for fear her mom would change her mind. She quietly waited while her mom unlocked a drawer and pulled her laptop out.
“Thanks,” she said quietly as she took it from her mother’s hands. Quickly racing up to her room, she smiled before she plunked down on her bed and fired up the machine.
After messaging Damon, her boyfriend, and Madison on Facebook to let them know she would see them tomorrow at school and what her punishment was, she Googled the assisted living facility where she’d be volunteering. She was not looking forward to working with these old people; they smelled funny and their wrinkled, loose skin made her gag.
“We pride ourselves on being an assisted living community that promotes living life to its fullest. By providing a wide range of activities, amenities, and events, we encourage our residents to enjoy the greatness life has to offer. We encourage independence while offering safety and support. When you live at Glenview, you are more than a resident. You are family.”
She sighed and shut the laptop lid. Family. She laughed at the notion. Nothing good seemed to come from family. She glanced at the picture on her nightstand. Smiling faces. Hair blowing in the salty wind, the beach and ocean behind them. It had been an amazing vacation. It had been the last time she remembered family as something good.
~***~
Annabelle’s first day at Glenview was chaotic. She’d barely had time to make the bus from school to the facility. Change would come, she thought. Maybe not today. But it would come. It had too. Annabelle had to believe. She closed her eyes, and pictured a different world. Where people were fearless and unified. Free. Healed and cheerful. A place where nothing hurt. She drew in a deep breath and stepped off the bus in the direction of Glenview. Tuesday, the day she was to volunteer. Her time would be dictated by the staff and spent in the kitchen or sitting in a recreation room with senile senior citizens. Neither option appealed to her at all.
She was a ball of raw nerves. She hadn’t volunteered before. She had never been in real trouble before. She pushed through the doors of the facility and stopped short. It smelled funny. It smelled like punishment. It was days like these she felt like the world was against her, that everyone around her seemed mean. And ugly. There were times she burned with antipathy. In those moments, she was repulsive too. She didn’t want to hate. Annabelle wanted to be kindhearted. But she had a difficult time executing her wants as of late.
“Can I help you?” A dirty blonde haired woman looked her up and down and Annabelle stiffened.
“Annabelle Fortin. I’m here to volunteer.” Her voice wasn’t her own. It sounded meek and pathetic even to her.
“Ah yes.” The woman smoothed an errant tendril of her hair, eyes locked on Annabelle. “We’re short-staffed in the kitchen today. Follow me.”
Annabelle wanted to find a dark corner and hide there. The kitchen? She knew nothing about cooking or serving food. Life was beginning to look like a bad dream. She inhaled sharply, put one foot in front of the other and followed the dishwater blonde down the kitchen where she was promptly handed a hairnet and a pair of plastic gloves. Ugh, she thought. This was so much worse than she imagined.
Chapter 1
Annabelle
“I gave you all that I could give. My soul, my heart, my mind.”
~ L’ame Immortelle—Betrayal
Tuesday. Again.
Annabelle had been dreading Tuesday for a week now. After last week’s kitchen duty she was sure her life was a nightmare. She’d left Glenview smelling like pureed spinach, bad breath and old people. It was a disaster. Her four hours had felt like ten.
As she walked down the brightly lit corridor toward the recreation room, a ruckus came from suite 208. She slowed her pace, eavesdropping. Her purple Converse sneakers squeaked on the sterile linoleum floor. She hated it here. She hated what volunteering represented in her life. Visit number two, and she was already willing away the next twenty-three, mandated volunteer days.
“I’m not riled up, you fools!” A woman swatted attendants’ hands away from her. “I’m bored. This place is like hell,” she huffed, resigning and settling down in the overstuffed chair behind her. The sight of this woman, scarcely as old as her own parents, struck her. Her skin was soft looking, her eyes clear and her posture self-assured.
“I’ll sit with you,” Annabelle boldly suggested from the doorway.
The woman’s weathered but clear hazel eyes shot to hers, and she smiled ruefully.
“Can you be trusted?” the woman asked, eyes narrowed.
What a strange question. Maybe this hellish punishment wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Annabelle shrugged. “Sure.”
“And who, my dear, are you?” the woman asked.
Annabelle took the woman in now. Really took her in. She was tall, slender, and quite pretty despite being her parents’ age. Her salt and pepper hair was swept up into a French twist. She thought what a shame it was when dementia hit this young. Ten years in a nursing home seemed like torturous eons to her, but having to endure these sterile places for nearly half a lifetime was just cruel. It was depressing knowing that this was the last stop. When a person was out in the world anything was still possible but once they moved into a place like Glenview there was only one way they would move out.
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m Annabelle Fortin.”
“Well, Annabelle Fortin, why on earth do you want to sit with a bumbling middle-aged fart like myself?”
“I don’t know, you seem kind of . . . spirited to me. Maybe you’ll have something interesting to say.” Annabelle peeled her eyes from the woman and glanced out the window near the woman’s bed while absently tucking her hair behind one ear.
“Oh, posh. You pity me. Think I’m lonely.” The woman huffed. “I’m not, you know. One can never be bored with a mind full of memories. I had quite the life before this.” Her hands splayed wide and gestured to the cold, eggshell-colored room. The attendants that lingered seemed to warm to the idea of Annabelle placating the woman.
“Is it alright that I sit with her instead of working in the kitchen?” she asked the nursing assistant.
“I’ll check but as far as I’m concerned you’re a godsend. If she gives you any trouble, holler. She’s a mean bird,” the nursing assistant stated as he exited the room. Annabelle wrinkled her nose at him.
Moving across the sterile room toward the chair opposite the lady, Annabelle cracked her knuckles then sat. Unlike the other rooms she’d passed in the hallway, this woman’s was cold. Not homey at all. No pictures or decorations hung on the walls, no trinkets sat on shelves.
“So, am I allowed to stay?” she asked scratching her arm that didn’t even itch.
“I suppose.” The woman looked her up and down, weariness pulling heavily at her features.
“What’s your name?” Annabelle finally asked, desperate to break the silence between them.
“Wouldn’t you like to
know?” the woman answered with a smart-ass grin. The corners of Annabelle’s mouth kicked up into a smile. She chuckled and tucked her legs up under herself in her chair.
“I could probably just ask someone,” she returned.
“Where’s the fun in that?” the woman answered, a sour expression on her face as if she had just bitten into a lemon. Annabelle shrugged. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she answered. The woman’s eyes lit up like sparklers.
“Eighteen was grand! You must be having the time of your life.” The woman clapped her hands together excitedly.
Annabelle frowned. She was definitely not having the time of her life. “It’s been less than awesome,” she answered dryly.
“Bullshit!” the woman squawked.
Annabelle started at the curse from the woman before noting the huge smile on her face. “Eighteen will be the best year. You’ll see. You’ll look back when you’re sitting in some home somewhere, like me, and think, damn, eighteen was fabulous.”
“I sure hope so,” she answered, frowning.
“You have quite the pout, you know that? It twists up your features and makes you ugly.”
“That’s not very nice.” Annabelle scowled. She eyed the old woman, a sudden wave of insecurity rushing through her.
“It’s not meant to be nice. It’s the truth. Truths are often ugly.” Annabelle blinked, unsure how to respond.
“Child, are you always this . . . this boring?” the woman asked.
“I’m not boring!” she squawked crossing her arms and pursing her lips in irritation.
“Well you’re not exactly riveting either, are you?” the woman volleyed back, revealing a half smile.
“What do you want from me?” Annabelle asked irritated. This woman was crazy but definitely not boring. She might actually enjoy some of her time if she got to sit with this mystery woman each week.
“Well, Annabelle Fortin, eighteen, let’s start with something easy.”
“Okay.” she answered.
“Why are you here?” the woman asked while pulling a blanket from the back of her chair and placing it over lap. Annabelle looked at the woman’s sock clad feet. For the first time since her DUI she felt ashamed to admit why she was here. “This isn’t rocket science love, just spit it out,” pushed the woman after a pause of silence.
